


Sophisticated Lady

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Series: Written on the Stave [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Zarie, a continuation of sorts of that kiss, makeup malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: Zelda and Marie have been conducting a secret relationship for weeks, if you could call it a relationship. Keeping it from the Spellmans brings about challenges Zelda hasn't faced with previous lovers and she needs to find a solution, fast.Or, having a different foundation shade to your girlfriend is an inconvenience even witches can't avoid.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman
Series: Written on the Stave [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869505
Comments: 17
Kudos: 53





	Sophisticated Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This stemmed from a need to see the aftermath of their kiss, the behind the scenes footage, and real world experience of pda when yours and your partners foundation shades couldn't be further apart.
> 
> Part of the Written on the Stave series

The kitchen air was thick with spices that gloomy Monday morning. While the smell was divine, Zelda’s eyes watered as the chilli-heavy mix hit her eyes. She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, fighting in vain to see clearly through the blur of tears. If she could just catch a clear view of the chef it would be worth it. Each swipe of the cloth allowed brief glimpses of clarity. She put these to good use, watching the woman’s hips sway as she stirred a steaming pan.

Zelda wasn’t familiar with the tune, but Marie hummed melodically as she stirred. A palm slapping rhythmically against her thigh kept the beat as her hips gyrated to a counter rhythm she seemed to just feel. It had startled Zelda at first, how free she was with her movements, how in touch with her own beat, but she’d more than grown used to it now. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

Her vision clouded again and she snorted indignantly at the inconvenience. It didn’t go unnoticed by Marie, who paused her hum throwing a glance over her shoulder. The rotation of her hips became a soft bounce that, when paired with Zelda’s current impediment, was somehow both better and worse simultaneously.

“Ma chérie?” Marie smiled still, finding amusement in her clear annoyance. 

She had quickly learnt that this behaviour wasn’t often cause for too much concern; Zelda Spellman was not a morning person, subsequently living up to many of the witch stereotypes before her first cigarette and espresso.

“Will that take much longer?” Zelda waved a hand in the direction of the cooker as her eyes rolled skyward in an attempt to quell the burn, “I’d like to make a coffee, at least, before Hilda returns.” Pulling out a cigarette she added a low, “Satan knows I can only manage the two of you for so long without it.”

“It’s already coming, mon chou.” Marie punctuated her point with a tap of the wooden spoon against the moka pot at the far end of the stove.

She returned to her humming then, turning back to the job at hand. How she was so vibrant in the morning Zelda would never know.

Deciding she was fighting a losing battle against the fiery bite in the air, Zelda leant back in her chair, placing the cigarette between her lips before lighting it and taking a drag. 

As facetious as she had seemed, she truly didn’t know if she’d be able to handle an effervescent Marie as well as her sister, newly returned from a weekend with Dr Cee. The way their energies bounced off each other could be trying at the best of times, but this morning she didn’t feel prepared at all.

She had woken in a terrible mood, Marie’s muscular form pressed to her side only serving to remind her that they were in for another week of stealing furtive glances across the room, and waiting until the dead of night to sneak from the room she shared with Hilda and down the corridor to where Marie would be waiting, only to have to be back again before dawn. She hadn’t crept around this much since her days at the academy and the threat of being caught had lost the exhilaration it had held in her youth. 

More so than that, Zelda hated _scheduling_ her acts of affection. She took great joy in catching her lovers unawares, pressing them against doorways in secluded rooms and leaving them gasping for breath.

Her punitive sentence was self-inflicted however. She wasn’t certain what they were to each other yet and, with the knowledge that Faustus was free of Lucifer’s confines, she was loath to draw attention to it too soon.

“Sweet or savoury?” Marie’s voice pulled her from her rumination.

She stood before her, a plate in either hand. Though her eyes still stung, from this distance Zelda’s view of her was crystal clear and what a view it was. At Zelda’s request, and in an attempt to cover the fresh bite marks at her neck, she had forgone her usual headscarf and worn her hair down, the curls framing her face. They were lucky; it was just long enough to shadow the bruising Zelda had left behind. she made a mental note to remember that for when it inevitably happened again.

Shaking her head softly, Zelda forced her attention from the woman’s slender neck to the plates in her hands. She couldn’t see the contents of either, from her seat at the table, but her previous experiences with Marie’s food had made it apparent that her skills in the kitchen rivalled Hilda’s.

“That depends, which is quite so... _fragrant_?” Her words were followed by a swift flutter of blinks, corralling tears before they could fall.

Marie’s rich chuckle was delightful, but only served to make Zelda blush violently, “Afraid of a little spice, are we?”

“Not _a little_ , no.” No matter how playfully, she would not be mocked.

Marie’s laughter increased and she set the plates on the table, a particularly decadent looking french toast in front of Zelda and a veritable platter of vegetables, eggs and some type of fish before her own seat. It was likely divine, but was very clearly the cause of her current affliction. Hands now free, Marie placed one either side of Zelda’s face caressing away stray tears with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry, ma chérie.” Eyes still sparkling with mirth, she leant forward closing the gap between them. A finger on her lips stilled her and she sighed around it, “Zelda-”

“Hilda will be back any moment. I don’t have time to touch up my makeup and neither do you.” She was stern but her words were tinged with a hint of regret.

Relenting reluctantly, Marie kissed the finger against her lips before pulling back. She pushed Zelda’s plate towards her again with resignation.

This was the moment Zelda hated most; the end of every weekend and the disheartened realisation that their freedom was over contorting Marie’s features. Zelda let her own expression soften slightly, taking in the other women’s face with unusually kind eyes.

“If you’d just accept how exquisite you look without makeup-”

“I could say the same to you, Zelda Spellman.” Marie interjected jovially, before adding in earnest, “Tu es la plus belle, ma chérie.”

Zelda’s cheeks flushed more vibrantly at the compliment and she let her eyes fall to her plate, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

The moment was broken by the unmistakable unlocking of the front door. Starting slightly at the intrusion, Zelda returned the cigarette to her lips, steeling her features for the excited energy her sister would exude. Marie, in turn, returned to the stove busying herself with the pouring of an espresso.

“Zelda?” Hilda singsonged from the entryway, door slamming shut in her wake.

She bustled into the kitchen just as Marie set the coffee beside Zelda’s plate. Zelda nodded a silent thank you, breathing out a plume of smoke. Hilda made to speak but was halted by the quick extension of Zelda’s hand into the air. She held it in place as she downed her coffee, lowering it again, with a flourish, only once it was finished.

“Something smells positively scrumptious, Marie!” Hilda enthused, starting on a fresh pot of tea.

Zelda’s eyes rolled; if her sister was to be this zealous she should have made her coffee Irish.

“Help yourself,” Marie smiled, spearing at her own plate, and chanced a quick glance at Zelda, “Careful though, it’s _hot_.”

“Don’t worry about me; I love spice!” Affirmed Hilda, filling a plate of her own.

“I thought Zelda did too, but she’s a little shy.” Marie bite the plantain from her fork, ignoring Zelda’s pointed glare burning into her.

Perhaps for the next drink she should forgo the coffee all together and start on the whiskey, Zelda mused.

“I am never shy.” Zelda asserted incredulously. When Marie opened her mouth, in what was sure to be a humorous rebuttal, she painted something between a smile and grimace on her face and turned to Hilda, "Hilda, do tell us all about your weekend with Dr Cee. Was he devilishly salacious as always?" Her voice was saccharin sweet and she drew deeply on her cigarette to steady herself for what was to come.

Zelda Spellman would not be teased, especially not in front of her sister. She only prayed she had the mental fortitude to withstand stories of the blushing bride-to-be.

She sliced off a corner of her french toast as Hilda began her tale; better to get something down her before thoughts of the mortal made her too nauseous. Satan, Marie could cook. She avoided the knowing eyes at her side as she stifled a moan, settling in for what was sure to be a long morning.

* * *

They had first made the unfortunate discovery two months prior. Having successfully eradicated the Pagans, and seen the coven safely back to the Academy, Zelda had suggested a nightcap in her study before bed. Marie had accepted.

She had been a formidable ally against their aggressors, commanding magic that Zelda had never seen with deft ability. Spell-casting seemed to be a full body endeavour for Marie and she had left the carnival visibly depleted. A whiskey would be just the ticket to soothe the aches no doubt already taking root.

They had nursed their drinks for longer than intended; neither finding reason enough to draw the night to a close while the fire still burned in its hearth. Marie had been right when she’d suggested knowing her better might stop her from being so fearsome. What mystery now remained was incomparably alluring.

Zoning in on Marie’s lips, Zelda attempted to focus on the conversation at hand well enough to respond appropriately. 

“We must harness your coven's maternal pouvoir for protection, and prepare them for war.”

 _We._ Marie would not be returning to her own coven in the near future then. It was the confirmation she’d been listening for all night.

Suddenly the distance between them was too great; the knowledge that she would not be gone in the morning granting permissions Zelda had unknowingly been waiting on. She shifted her weight, bringing her hand to rest on the back of Marie’s chair. Heat radiated from the skin tantalisingly within her reach.

“Am I to take it that means you'll be staying on?” 

If her positioning hadn’t made her meaning obvious, the desire in her eyes had and her lip quirked up as the realisation hit Marie.

“Only if I am welcome,” Marie responded coyly, pausing a beat before adding a daring, “ma chérie.”

Without hesitation, Zelda’s hands were at her cheeks, pulling Marie forward into the kiss they had been dancing around all evening. Her lips were soft, softer than the high priestess had felt in decades, traces of whiskey lingering on them. 

A surge of electricity coursed through Zelda, sparking from every point of contact. It was Marie; her magic biting like static just beneath her skin, the kiss allowing it to flow through the pair in waves. Had Zelda thought she’d experienced power before it paled in comparison to that Marie exuded. Zelda needed more, desperately. It’s intensity only grew as she parted Marie’s lips, deepening the kiss, fingers twitching as the energy reached their tips. With so much unbridled power, it was no wonder to Zelda that Marie was a Mambo.

Her need for air exceeding desire, Zelda reluctantly withdrew. She inhaled jaggedly, eyes remaining closed to fully experience the last vestiges of Marie’s magic as it ebbed from her.

“You’re-” Zelda’s voice was thick with want and she found herself uncharacteristically uncertain how to adequately encapsulate the hunger that Marie had brought about.

Marie’s light flutter of laughter stopped her, drawing open eyes clouded with an unguarded hurt as they met Marie’s. The sound had lasted less than a second but it was all it had taken for uncertainty to creep in. Had she somehow misinterpreted Marie’s response? The woman was more poetic with her language but surely she hadn’t inferred something that wasn’t there. Zelda’s stoic mask returned.

“No, ma chérie,” Marie’s hand grasped at the one pressed against her cheek before it could be removed, “ I do not laugh at you,” Her eyes still sparked with exhilaration but her words were serious, “But you...do not suit my shade.” 

“I don’t..” Zelda’s voice tapered off in confusion.

Her eyes flicked slowly down to the grin that had formed on Marie’s kiss-plumped lips and Marie’s meaning became all too apparent. The woman’s deep lipstick was smudged beyond repair, but more telling than that was the halo of ivory that now surrounded it. It coloured her chin, straying into the hollow of her cheeks and up over her cupid’s bow. The smattering across her nose was perhaps most telling -- if not mistaken for other, more illicit, activities.

Zelda’s own nose crinkled, her thumb tracing over the discolouration. It smeared further, but rather than coming away cleanly seemed only to meld more resolutely into Marie’s skin. Turning her thumb to peer at its pad, Zelda frowned. There was seemingly nothing there, but a quick pass of her index finger over the surface revealed a slightly creamy texture.

Her hand flew to her own lips as the realisation hit, “Oh Satan.”

Her foundation. 

Zelda dragged her fingers more forcefully across her own lips before staring down at the deep purple and brown hues that had transferred to them. Flinging out her arm, she muttered a short incantation under her breath before catching the summoned compact mirror mid-air. She peered into it, aghast. It was worse than she’d expected; the entire lower half of her face now sporting Marie’s foundation and a lipstick she hadn’t applied.

"It seems we bear each other's mark." Marie jested.

Zelda’s eyes flicked up from her self-appraisal to the woman failing at an attempt to hold back a prideful smirk from the other side of the mirror. Her expression paired with their current state of dishevelment was all it took for Zelda’s solemnity to break and a peel of high-pitch giggles to erupt forth.

“Oh no!” It was all she could squeak out around her laughter, the tone so far removed from her own that she clamped a hand over her mouth at the sound.

Marie’s deep chuckle joined the sound of her own glee as she reached forward, pulling Zelda’s hand away to revel in her unabashed gaiety. In her short time in Greendale Marie had experienced nothing so captivating.

As her laughter subsided a warm glow coloured Zelda’s cheeks - whether from exertion or embarrassment was unclear. 

Watching for any signs of apprehension, Marie moved to cup her cheek, mirroring their earlier positioning, "No sense in stopping now."

"No, I don't suppose there is." Zelda responded demurely, her voice having regained it's usual smokiness once more.

Marie leant in capturing Zelda's lips with her own once more. Her magic caught Zelda off guard as it radiated freely from her. Fluttering through her veins alongside her own, it was intoxicating and with it Zelda’s worries dissipated.

* * *

Light spilled out from beneath her bedroom door when finally the pair made their way upstairs. Halting, Zelda held a hand out for Marie to do the same. She did so, admiring the witch’s features in the soft glow.

Zelda had insisted on removing her makeup before exiting the study and refused to let Marie leave before doing the same. She had diligently scrubbed with the provided facecloth, complaining only once about the absurdity of it. Now, in the dim light of the hall, Marie was afforded her first view of Zelda without her well-practiced eyeliner flicks and filled eyebrows. She was ethereal. 

The object of her study turned to her, lips pursing at the intensity of Marie’s gaze. Wordlessly, Zelda inclined her head towards the door at the other end of the hall; Marie’s room for the night. Nodding her understanding, Marie sidled past her but stopped at her door, cocking an eyebrow suggestively.

With a roll of her eyes, Zelda entered her own room and shut the door behind her before leaning heavily against it. Hilda lifted her head at the noise and promptly dropped her book.

“Zelda!” She exclaimed, stumbling from the edge of the bed and across to her sister as fast as her legs would carry her, “Satan below, are you ill?”

“Hildegarde Antoinette Spellman,” Zelda admonished, blushing slightly at the knowledge that her voice would carry at least as far as Marie’s room, “When have you ever known me to be sick?”

Reaching up to feel her forehead for a fever, Hilda began reeling off dates, “The winter you had that awful case of diphtheria, most of 1918, whatever you caught at Woodstock-”

“I’m perfectly well.” Zelda bristled, pushing past her to her wardrobe.

“If this is your pride talking, I can whip up a healing draft quick as a flash, no bother.” 

Situating herself on the end of her bed, Hilda observed Zelda for any signs of malaise. The wince as she slipped her jacket from her shoulders, and angry red laceration that was revealed with its removal, gave Hilda all the reasoning she needed.

“You’ve been walking around with that all day?” She scolded, once again jumping from the bed.”

“There wasn’t-”

“Don’t you, ‘there wasn’t time’ me,” Hilda’s finger wagged, her face a combination of concern and outright anger, “There’s always time.”

Throwing on her robe, she made for the door before asserting, “I’ll be back with the tea in five minutes and you _will_ drink every last drop, do you understand me?”

“Yes Hilda.” Zelda conceded with a soft sigh.

She’d be thankful for the draft, but not as thankful as she was that the gunshot wound had provided a welcome alibi.

* * *

"Blazes." Zelda uttered in frustration, slamming the book before her closed.

She added it to the precarious stack of tomes in the corner of her desk before inhaling deeply on the cigarette between her lips. Even with access to the library's forbidden texts, she had yet to find a solution to their problem. It seemed not a single witch or warlock had developed a spell to prevent makeup transference.

Following Hilda’s return during their breakfast, Marie had taken to increasingly devious methods to break down Zelda’s resolve and she wasn't certain she could remain steadfast for much longer. Monday she had leant in close during family game night, under the guise of team conference, letting her breath play on her skin as she whispered sweet nothings into her neck. Tuesday had seen her send an ‘urgent’ note to Zelda during the middle of her class on necromancy fundamentals. It had listed everything she’d intended to do to the witch once they were alone that evening. She’d followed through on every line. On Wednesday she had waited until her meeting with the hedge witches, discussing how they could support the academy curriculum. She had somehow ended up seated beside her. As Zelda spoke, Marie’s hand had expertly navigated the confines of her pencil skirt and roved the bare skin of her thigh. The table had been the only thing keeping her modesty as she fought to maintain a neutral expression. 

It was now Thursday and the pair of lace panties dropped on her desk, when Marie had made an impromptu stop between classes, had very nearly broken her. Satan help her, she didn’t think she’d be able to resist what Friday would bring. That’s if she was even finished with her for today.

While she knew the other woman took immense _pleasure_ in their time together, she hadn’t expected her to be so _forward._

Stubbing out the cigarette, Zelda rose as the clock on the mantle sounded for her next class. She needed to find something. And fast.

Perhaps it would make an interesting assignment for the students. Satan help her that it had come to this.

* * *

The mortuary was full of signs of life when Zelda arrived home that evening. Hilda's distinctive clattering rang through from the kitchen, along with the familiar aroma of roasting lamb. Footsteps echoed on the floorboards above signalling Sabrina's presence, with Ambrose's being confirmed by the gentle thrum of a baseline from the attic. A full house.

Smooth jazz cut through it all from the sitting room, piquing Zelda’s interest. It was one of her own records; added to her collection roughly 80 years prior. She hadn't listened to it in nearly as long. Marie had been 'exploring' again.

Setting down her purse, on an end table, Zelda riffled through its contents in search of the scrap of paper she'd added that day. She found the lace of Marie's earlier discarded underwear first and smirked, and briefly contemplated pocketing it for use as leverage that night. Locating the paper at last, she crumpled it into her palm before pushing into the sitting room.

Head back, eyes closed, Marie reclined on the loveseat, toes tapping to the record. She’d helped herself to Zelda’s whiskey and a half drunk glass sat, just out of reach of her fingertips, on the floor.

Lips curving upwards at the sight, Zelda crossed to the record player, letting her fingers run over the vinyl sleeve, " _Sophisticated Lady_. This is a good one."

"It's you." Marie affirmed, removing her feet from the cushion and tapping the space beside her.

Zelda shook her head, both at the offered seat and at the statement, “It was.” She contended softly, stooping to collect Marie’s glass and imbibing deeply from it, “Not for a while now.”

Rising to stand before her, Marie looped an arm around the redhead’s waist and drew her near. A heady mix of cigarette smoke amber filled her lungs. It was uniquely Zelda.

With gentle fingers Marie encircled both Zelda’s hand and whiskey glass, lifting them to her lips to brush sweet kisses across her knuckles. The woman’s grasp on the glass loosened slightly and Marie delicately removed it from her grip before setting it on the loveseat’s arm. She stilled, seeking out Zelda’s eyes. They glistened with unshed tears.

“Still, ma chérie.” Marie breathed, lacing their fingers together.

Listening for the saxophone below the record’s crackle, Marie began to sway them softly, a leading hand ghosting over the curve of Zelda’s back. For a moment their movement was stilted; Zelda’s stiff back remaining in harsh juxtaposition to Marie’s languid back and forth. 

Releasing a breath she didn’t realise she’d be holding, Zelda let her head sink into Marie’s neck just in time to obscure the single tear tracking down her cheek. She was not her husband. Was nothing like him. Every touch was a caress, every gaze conveying the unspoken truth that one word from Zelda and she would stop. To her own disbelief, Zelda didn’t want to stop. 

Warming into the dance, she nuzzled closer allowing Marie to lead the slow sway across the rug. 

“It’s been too long since you danced.” Marie surmised, having a way of always knowing what Zelda was thinking.

She nodded, tamping back memories of the times before. Of _his_ hands clamping her waist, _his_ cloying breath at her neck. Marie’s eyes steadied her; as they did each night when gasps of ecstasy became tinged with fear -- when weekends arrived and allowed the gift of sleeping in each other's arms, only for it to be disturbed by her violent cries, becoming jagged sobs before soothing to nothing.

As the song reached its crescendo, Marie dipped Zelda low, holding tight to her as the sax continued it’s seemingly endless note. Gazing up at the face of adoration she was so often met with, Zelda tilted her chin skywards until her lips caught Marie’s. Now more used to the frisson of magic that passed between them with every kiss, Zelda sighed contentedly at its familiar presence. Taking comfort in the knowledge that she was in the arms of the most powerful witch in New England, Zelda deepened this kiss, only pulling away when finally the note ended.

They remained in their tableau for a moment before a clattering of plates from the next room broke them from the spell. Marie eased Zelda up to standing once more, eyes fixed on the mess of makeup that was no doubt mirrored on her own face.

“Kè mwen, that’s unfixable.”

Extricating herself from Marie’s arms, Zelda unfurled the scrap of paper she had brought in, reciting the bastardised incantation upon it, “Of times of old I will remind, draw face envisioned in my mind, restore to me my youth of then, count back the minutes one and ten.”

Her expectant gaze shifted to Marie.

Perplexed at the sudden use of magic, Marie's brow furrowed. She'd sold items bewitched with similar spells to witches in search of quick fixes; the effects never lasted long but were dramatic -- usually.

“Was that a..vanity spell?” 

“Did it work?” Zelda's voice was painfully hope filled even as her eyes clouded with doubt.

As she turned in search of a mirror, a gentle touch at her forearm stilled her.

“Why don’t you tell me what it was supposed to do?” Marie proposed, diplomatically.

“It’s a youth charm,” Zelda explained, eyes suddenly downcast, “Modified to only reverse the last eleven minutes”

“You do look eleven minutes younger.” Marie quipped, pulling her in close.

Zelda slapped her arm, face falling, “The makeup is still-”

“Yon dezòd.” Marie confirmed for her, “Incredibly telling.”

There would be no fixing it in time now. Zelda silently chastised herself for not having arranged a trial run beforehand. She had intended only to tell Marie about it that evening and to put it to use at a later date. 

The wave of security that washed over her with a quick glance at the witch's warm features reminded her why that plan had been set aside. _Safe_. If their time together had taught her anything it was that Marie’s presence alone was enough to quell Zelda’s worst fears.

“Dinner’s ready, loves!” Hilda’s voice sounded from the kitchen prompting a cacophony of banging doors and nearing footsteps from the floors above.

At the sound, Marie slid her hand into Zelda’s, squeezing reassuringly, “Perhaps I can distract them while you-”

Zelda’s firm head shake cut her off, “No, I think it’s about time. Don’t you?”

Lip quirking into a coquettish smile, she pulled Marie into her arms kissing her deeply. There she felt power, there she felt safe, and there she would be when the Spellman horde descended.

**Author's Note:**

> I've used a little creative license and decided that Marie drops French _and_ Haitian Creole into her speech because why not?
> 
> Ma chérie - my darling  
> Mon chou - sweetie/my cabbage  
> Tu es la plus belle, ma chérie - You are the most beautiful, my darling  
> Kè mwen - my heart  
> Yon dezòd - a mess
> 
>   
> For those interested, the record they play is Sophisticated Lady by Duke Ellington - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brqxEdwsTQs
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and all comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
